Red
by MLaw
Summary: Illya must report to military intelligence Headquarters of GRU also known as 'The Aquarium" #13 in the Illya series. Now in chronological order.


The clouds hung low in the sky, like ghostly apparitions drifting over Moskva. There was a heaviness in the air, one that Illya Kuryakin sensed as he stood on a small balcony at the headquarters of his employer, GRU...the Soviet military intelligence.

Fencing surrounded the entire area, protecting a central courtyard in which the innermost building was located, the main GRU office, a visibly rundown nine-story tower, nicknamed, the ' **Aquarium.'** For the most part it was a drab, windowless **red** brick complex at one side of _Kodinka_ airfield, the old Central Airport located in the center of the city. Headquarters could be accessed either through an entrance located on the airfield, or through a narrow lane protected by a ten-meter high wall.

No vehicles were ever permitted inside the courtyard. All comings and goings were monitored, with clothing checked for anything that might be a non-approved weapon or spy device. Briefcases, cigarette lighters, and even fountain pens were forbidden. Belt buckles were frowned upon, and for that reason many of the apparatchiks inside headquarters wore suspenders.

Surrounded by armed guards, watch dogs, and electrified barbed wire, it was a maze of security measures. Surveillance was complete and absolute, with no object too obscure or insignificant to be dismissed as a potential weapon.

Everything was on high alert, as an American plane had been shot down over Soviet territory, this nearly two weeks before the scheduled opening of an East–West summit in Paris. It was a great embarrassment to the United States and already existing tensions rapidly escalated between the the two countries.

Khrushchev announced to the Supreme Soviet, and the world, that a spy-plane had been shot down, never making any reference to the identity of the pilot, but intimating he had been killed.

The Americans, in a press release, speculated the pilot might have fallen unconscious while the autopilot was still engaged; he'd radioed earlier about having a malfunction with his oxygen equipment.

The White House admitted it might have been the same plane referred to by Khrushchev, but claimed no attempt to violate Soviet airspace had occured; the incident was purely an accident.

The Premier had set his trap and sprung it, making the announcement...

" _When I made my first report I deliberately did not say the pilot was alive and well... and now just look how many silly things the Americans have said."_

Francis Gary Powers was indeed alive, and his wrecked plane was revealing much to the Soviets.

He'd been captured soon after parachuting down onto Russian soil and carried with him a modified silver dollar containing a lethalshellfish-derived saxitoxin-tipped needle, but he never got the chance to use it.

A surveillance camera was recovered from the wreckage, and photographs that had been taken were developed. This gave Khrushchev enough ammunition to embarrass Eisenhower's administration, having publicly caught it in a lie about their spy plane.

.

Standing beside Kuryakin was another more seasoned operative, one Colonel Oleg Penkovsky who had just flown in from Turkey, and was peripherally involved with this U-2 incident.

"This could mean war," Illya whispered to man; offering him a cigarette, taking a long drag from his own lit Turkish blend. It had a calming effect upon him, though he knew it was a nasty habit.

Illya had been smoking since he was a teen, back in his days at the orphanage, where cigarettes were equated with toughness. He, being of small of stature, figured anything he could use to help make him seem less of a target to the bullies there was a tool well worth using.

" _How can you smoke that Turkish shit?_ " The Colonel grumbled, pulling his own brand of _Sobranie_ from his pocket. _At least I smoke a good Soviet brand."_

"My cigarettes are cheaper," Illya shot back.

"Yes and black market no doubt," Penkovsky laughed. "If you are going to buy that way, at least get American brands if you can. Just don't get caught doing it."

" _Amerikansii?_ How can you say this when we are on brink of war with them? They will not admit their plane was spying, and Premier is pushing issue to be taken before United Nations; not that they will be able to resolve it."

"So you have no trust in U.N. Illya?"

"I doubt their ability to sway two great powers." He flicked his cigarette butt to the courtyard below.

"It is hard to argue against American plane being shot down by one of salvo of SA-2 missiles over Soviet territory and having proof to back it up," Penkovsky said.

Little did Kuryakin know at the time, this was part of a story fabricated by the Colonel, who was in fact spying for MI6...

Only time and history would tell the truth of this incident. The only thing the younger GRU agent cared about at the moment, was that it would not lead to war. That would surely mean the end of the world should the two great nuclear powers collide.

Tomorrow he would be off to England and his new assignment, one that had him nervous. He'd been offered up a sacrificial lamb as it were, to an organization called U.N.C.L.E. The man he'd met in the office of the head of the Directorate, one Alexander Waverly, was almost fatherly, though reassuring and adept at waylaying a young Russian's concerns.

One simply did not just leave GRU and the price one paid would be their life, if they attempted to do so. That price had been waived for the young Kuraykin, but in reality it was his life here in Russia that would be forfeited; he would live but would have to give up his home.

He had an idea what his work for this U.N.C.L.E. would entail, but the words Waverly told him and reality could be two different things. It remained to be seen if Alexander Waverly was a man of his word.

It had been drilled into him to trust nothing American, yet U.N.C.L.E. was a multinational organization, owing allegiance to no country.

On Kuryakin's last night, after seeing the sights of Moskva, he ate a proper meal accompanied by a good bottle of Russian Vodka. Toasting to his dead family; it was the the last thing he recalled before passing out from drinking too much.*

It was his farewell to to everything that had meant something to him. There was no turning back now.

Illya nodded his goodbye to Oleg, leaving to go home to sleep off his would be departing first thing in the morning, heading to the beginning of a new life for him, a new chapter of sorts. Would he be trading one master for another and nothing more? That remained to be seen.

This U-2 incident was still on his mind and being ever the fatalist, Kuryakin added to his concern...

"If there was a tomorrow..."

.

* ref " Last Goodbye"


End file.
